


One Shot Collection (that I wrote in exchange for other fics)

by GeataRionnag



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Crack, Gen, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:40:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23930971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeataRionnag/pseuds/GeataRionnag
Summary: Yeah I wrote these as part of a three way fic exchange. A delightful mixture of whatever I did to fulfill whatever prompts I'm given. They're short but who cares.





	1. Peter Parker has a dream

**Author's Note:**

> Peter Parker has a dream. Likely to spawn a sequel.  
> Spider-Man Tom Holland movies. Light Peter Parker/Michelle Jones.

Peter Parker woke up to an odd sound outside his window. Specifically, a knocking sound, which in itself was fairly ordinary, except for the fact that it was outside his window. His window, which was who knows how many stories up, only accessible from wall climbing… or very careful calculation to be able to stand on the small ledge below it…  
He rolled off his bunk bed and landed in a half-sleeping stupor, relying fully on his spider powers to keep himself righted.  
The knocking came more insistently now.  
Peter had no idea what was going on, but he opened his window for the knocking hand and poked his head out the window.  
"You're a hard sleeper," MJ said.  
"What are you doing outside my window?" Peter asked, his voice cracking sky-high with sleepy disuse.  
"What do you mean?" MJ looked puzzled.  
Gravity seemed to shift ninety degrees, and suddenly Peter had to grasp onto the bottom of the window to avoid falling back into his room.  
"Wha--?" He said, pulling himself up through the window to join MJ where she was perched on the wall.  
"Trippy, right?" She said, pulling out a package of Oreos. "Want one?"  
Peter wordlessly accepted as the lines of apartment buildings seemed to fold in on themselves. Three Oreos in and the buildings were still slowly shifting.  
"Should we get down?" He asked halfway through the fourth Oreo.  
"What is down?" MJ returned plainly. Peter noticed now a cape around her shoulders, solely because it began to lift her off the side of the building. She extended her hand to Peter. "Join me?"  
"Nice cape," Peter said, taking her hand.  
"It's a cloak." The folding buildings seemed to shimmer. A sparkling ring surrounded their floating forms and they passed silently through it.  
Peter's grip began to weaken and he slipped, down through what seemed to be a tunnel of the portals.  
He was falling, faster and faster, through the rings…  
And then he woke up, jolting into his bed as if he had just landed there.  
He opened his eyes blearily and saw the same old ceiling. There was no knocking out the window, and a quick glance confirmed no MJ on the wall and no folding New York.  
He let out a shaky laugh and left the room for breakfast.


	2. Raw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter feels spent after learning about the prophecy and living through the death of Sirius. Canon compliant. Takes place between chapters 37 and 38 of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Angst I think?

Harry had to be honest. No matter how much he dreaded returning to Privet Drive every summer, he was beginning to hate the end of the school year even more.   
He was walking in a daze through the too-quiet halls of Hogwarts, winding his way through the old castle to the Gryffindor tower. Dumbledore had let him out of the Headmaster's office quietly, telling him to get some rest and process everything that happened.  
Harry didn't want to process anything.  
Last year, when Cedric died, it had been bad enough… but now Sirius… Oh, Merlin, Sirius!   
If Harry's head didn't feel so raw, so spent, he would have started crying. His face felt hot, and a horrible coldness snaked its way around his throat as he kept walking.  
He was numb. His rage had poured out, and… and he'd been told things that just made him feel worse.   
Marked Voldemort's equal, destined to be the avatar of the side of the light… but he felt so dark inside. He hated being human. He felt weak. If his fear and stubbornness hadn't clouded his vision…  
He was exhausted, rubbed raw. He still had to deal with that annoying staircase. He wasn't sure he could navigate it in his state. He was fully submerged in irrationality and mental fog.   
"Come on," he muttered as he kept slogging onward.   
How was he supposed to save the wizarding world when he couldn't save the person who meant most to him? How could he kill the most powerful Dark Wizard in all of Britain if he couldn't even avenge his godfather's murder? How in the name of Merlin was he supposed to be this great hero when all he was a broken boy with a definition too big to fulfill?  
Why, why, why, why… Sirius…   
He let out a wavering sigh that shifted dangerously close to a whimper as he turned the corner towards the most difficult leg of his trek.  
The staircase was an art, and even after five years, five wonderful, horrible years, he still never got it perfect, it seemed. He never understood how he got up all those stairs when he thought back on it later.   
Somehow, though, he got back to Gryffindor tower and crashed on his bed hard.   
He cried himself to sleep, dreaming of the fluttering veil and a big black dog he would never see again.


	3. Ritual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ficlet sliver based on the ritual that brought Voldemort back to life.

"Bone of the father, unknowingly taken, you shall restore thy son," the rich voice rang through the oak trees and dripping moss of the forest. A bone dropped in the mammoth silver cauldron, the clang ringing through the stuffy stillness of the summer night.  
"Flesh of the servant, willfully given, you shall restore thy master," the voice hissed. A glowing blade slid upon the figure's shoulder, and with a cry of pain, the flesh was rent from the bone. It flopped into the cauldron unimpressively, still smoking from the cauterizing effects of the knife.  
"Blood of the foe, forcefully drawn, you shall restore thy enemy," the voice ground out with a groan of pain. The silver tip of a needle slid into the flesh of a young man's arm and drank of the blood within. The unconscious hero sagged in the oaken throne as the needle was shattered like an eggshell on the edge of the cauldron.


	4. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ficlet sliver. Marvel/The Avengers.

He was fairly certain that darkness was the only thing that was. A roiling warm darkness, sometimes, or a calm chilling darkness. Neither were particularly pleasant, but he wasn't sure if such a thing as "pleasant," was.   
He supposed that this was the void. That this was what it meant to fall, fall, fall, for eternity…  
But then, there was a light. It hurt to look at, but it was so different from the darkness… he felt there was no way to resist it's strange pull.  
So, with what little strength he possessed, he clawed his way towards the light, the small sun that now controlled his life.  
After that, a blur. Vertigo. And a blinding pain that curled around him and through him, like briar roses choking his body. He must've squinted from pain, so much so that he fell into tortured slumber.  
Awareness returned. And for the first time since he had let go his brother's hand, he could see clearly. Reminders of pain burned in ripples through him. Cold shackles laced his wrists together. He peered around himself. He knew not where he was.  
He was lost again, save one word--   
"He will face Asgardian justice."  
His mind awoke truly. His senses were sharpened. His eyes flicked about the room like a meadowlark.   
Chaos erupted nearby.  
And then, a chance. A cube slid towards him, one he recognized from legend.   
He stole the chance.   
And suddenly, Loki was elsewhere.


	5. Love is Drunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The only person who loves Padme more in the galaxy than Anakin Skywalker is drunk Anakin Skywalker.  
> Anidala, set post AotC preRotS

Drunk Anakin gets his hands on the equivalent of a burner phone and texts Padme and leaves her holographic messages. She knows what's up as soon as she receives the texts. She has lunch with Anakin the next day at their apartment.   
"I got some very interesting messages yesterday, Ani," she says over a delicate spring salad.   
"What sort of interesting? Anakin asks, focused rather intently on his own food. (It's just that good.)  
"Maybe I should just read them aloud to you..." Padme grabs her communication device and begins to read out loud some messages that are a mix of steamy, embarrassingly humorous, and sappy, with Anakin getting redder and redder in the face the whole time until he's had enough. "Who in the galaxy was sending you these things!?" He cries. "I'll fight them."  
"One moment, I'm not done," she says using her politician's poker face to keep from bursting out laughing. "It's just our luck that this mysterious caller left a couple hologram messages. See if you still want to fight him after you see this." She pulls up one of the messages. Anakin is fully prepared for some monstrous beast and is miffed that Padme would think he wouldn't be up to the task of defending her honor.  
But the hologram clearly shows himself, drunk off his socks, with a flower imported from Alderaan gripped between his teeth, professing his love tearfully.  
"I don't think you'd like to fight yourself."  
Anakin grows strangely silent. The burner phone and messages are erased from existence by the next day. Some times Padme will bring it up in conversation and he'll shush her vigorously. But inside he thinks it was the perfect way to prove he really does love her with all his heart-- as if she didn't know that already.


End file.
